


piercing thoughts

by Hauno



Category: Original Work
Genre: Depression, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Harm, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 06:12:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12881838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hauno/pseuds/Hauno
Summary: in which shinta learns to heal





	piercing thoughts

The first time Shinta had cut himself was when he was fourteen. It was with a dull knife that he’d stolen off a restaurant table. He wasn’t sure what appalled him to do it; it’s as if the clinking of his nails on the blade made a sound that called to him. 

 

And when it hit his flesh for the first time, he promised himself it would only be this once. That he would get better. 

 

That it was just for now.

 

\--

 

“Just once more,” he’d say, sixteen years old, out on the streets with torn clothes and cut wrists. It was strange; he knew it was. 

 

But he was addicted to how red looked on his pale flesh. It suited him, he thought. 

 

People didn’t seem to mind either. Infact, most made use of his masochistic side.

 

Though, that never felt better than the press of the blade on his skin.

 

\--

 

Nothing good ever lasts for him. So when his new friend, Solstice, finds him, and starts to take care of him, he knows it won’t last.

 

Nothing lasts except for the stinging pain on his arms and the strum of a blade.

 

\-- 

 

It takes him a minute to process what his therapist (the one that Solstice had convinced him to go to, after two whole years of living with her,) was trying to tell him.

 

“You need to work on finding different coping mechanisms. I understand that it’s hard, but let’s work together to find you a healthier alternative.”

 

Their voice echoed through his head as his mind felt blurry, like it was all a dream.

 

Therapy wasn’t really for him, he thought.

 

\--

 

It happened again, and again, and again, despite him telling his therapist that it was fine. That he was fine. He didn’t want to change it; the sharp edge of the knife was his friend.

 

His knives were his true friends, he thinks. They come in many shapes, sizes and colors; almost like people. And that’s what makes them, well, them. 

 

And of course, he wouldn’t want them to get lonely. He makes sure each and every one of them gets use now and then.

 

\--

 

“Shinta, I don’t want you to hurt yourself anymore.”

 

“Okay.” He lied.

 

Every time he lied, a tiny flame of pain sparked in his chest.

 

\--

 

He wakes up in the hospital one day. He laughs to himself.

 

“Must’ve been too deep.” As if, it’s a joke to him.

 

As if; he’s a joke.

 

He sits for what feels like hours. This isn’t what he wants, is it?

 

She must be absolutely horrified without him home; his friends must be worried if they’ve heard the news.

 

This isn’t what he wants. 

 

Though, he wonders if he can even stop himself.

 

\--

 

It’s been a few months, and he’s finally able to go home. A few months with no blades; with no razors; with no way to release any of his imagination. He looks at his arms; and for a minute,

 

He thinks he sees semi-clean canvases.

 

He could start fresh, (despite how truly ugly the scars he’s left are.)

 

Shinta smiles. 

 

\--

 

When it comes down to it, he can’t do it. 

 

He only sees flashes of the people he loves in his mind when the blade hits his skin.

 

\--

Two months on his own; with no new scars to show. 

 

He’s healing-- and for the first time, he thinks his skin looks beautiful, despite the ugly, crude scars that he once found to fit him perfectly.

 

He deserves this after fighting so hard; he thinks.

 

\--

 

Solstice’s hands are as soft as ever. Her fingers gently trace Shinta’s skin. His new adornments of artwork with the faint texture of scarred flesh.

 

“I’m proud of you, Shinta.”

 

She smiles, softly.

 

And for once, he’s proud of himself, too.

  
  



End file.
